f LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. % 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. S 



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Nothing to Eat. 



Illustrated. 



J^*-NOT "^ 



gg i\t %nt\n 0f '' gotbhtg ta Mmr 



" I ni nibble a little at what I have got." 



"My appetite's none of the host, 



And so I must pamper the delicate thing/ 
"The least mite willsuflicc; 



A side bone and dressing and bit of the breast. 
The tip of the rump— that's it— and one of the fli's." 




NEW TO 



DICK AND FITZGERALD, 

No. 18 Akn Strekt. 
1857. 



f^\ 



> 



v^^' 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

EDWARD O. JENKINS, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern 
District of New York. 



KDWARI) O. JENKINS 

ipiintfr anU 5tfrfO'42pec» 
2C Frankforl St. 



TO ALL LADIES " DYING WITH DYSPEPSIA. 

*♦ Wif)txe fa0^ion anti follg are all of a suft." 

BY A JOLLY GOOD NATURED 

AUTHOR. 



xtha. 



CONTENTS 



FAOB 

THE AEGUMENT 9 

THE PROOF— THE QUEEN OF FASHION 11 

THE OBJECT AIMED AT 18 

WHAT ANOTHER POET DID 14 

HOW THE AUTHOR SOMETIMES DINES 15 

MERDLE THE BANKER 17 

PLACES WHERE MORTALS DINE 18 

THINGS THAT MORTALS EAT THERE 24 

THE INVITATION 29 

THE MERDLE ORIGIN . . . .• 81 

MRS. MERDLE AT HOME 40 

MRS. MERDLE GOES TO MARKET 4T 

THE DINNER-BELL RINGS 49 

THE DINNER TABLE TALK 51 

MRS. MERDLE DOUBTS PARADISE'S UNEATING PLEASURES 5S 
MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EARTHLY ... 56 
MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF THINGS EATABLE . . 59 
MRS. MERDLE ORDERETH THE SECOND COURSE ... 61 
MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF HYGIENE AND FISH SAUCE 62 

MRS. MERDLE DESCRIBETH HER DOCTOR 66 

MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH AGAIN ON DINNER ... 66 
MRS. MERDLE ACCEPTETH OF A SLIGHT DINNER, SUIT- 
ABLE FOR A WOMAN SUFFERING WITH DYSPEPSIA . 71 
MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF WISHES AND HER SUF- 
FERINGS 73 

MRS. MERDLE DISCOURSETH OF PUDDING . . . . 76 



VIU CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

MRS. MEEDLE DISGOUESETH OF THE NECESSITY OF GOOD 

WINE AND OTHER MATTERS 86 

MRS, MERDLE SUGGESTETH THAT DINNER BEING FINISH- 
ED, THE GENTLEMEN WILL SMOKE. IN THE MEAN- 
TIME, SHE DISCOUESETH 92 

MRS. MERDLE, HAVING "NIBBLED A LITTLE" FOR TWO 
HOURS AT DINNER, RETIRETH FROM THE TABLE UN- 
SATISFIED 99 

THE POET MORALIZETH.— HE DISCOUESETH TO THOSE 

WHO GOEGE AND COMPLAIN 101 

HE DISCOUESETH OF THE WHEEEFOEE OF BACHELOEISM 102 
HE DISCOUESETH OF WHAT SOME MOETALS LIVE FOR . 105 
HE IMPLOEETH MEECY UPON THOSE WHO ARE CONDEMN- 
ED WITH FASHIONABLE FOLLY TO MARRY, AND ILLUS- 

TRATETH THEIR CONDITION 107 

HE IMPLORETH MERCY FOR OTHER UNFORTUNATE 

BEINGS 110 

HE DISCOUESETH OF A COMMON PEAYER .... 112 
HE DISCOUESETH OF TEOUBLE AND SOEEOW .... 113 
HE MOEALIZETH UPON WHAT A DAY MAY BEING FOETH 114 
HAVING EEACHED THIRTYSIXTHLY, THE AUTHOR IS 
ABOUT TO MAKE THE " APPLICATION," AND PRAY FOR- 
GIVENESS, BUT CONCLUDES BY REMAINING INCOG. . 116 



ILLUSTEATIONS. 

Plate I, NOTHING TO EAT Feontispeeok 

Plate II, THE "DINING SALOON" 22 

Plate III, THE INVITATION TO DINNER 28 

Plate IV, KITTY MALONE'S INHERITANCE 87 

Plate V, THE MEAT MARKET 44 

Plate VI, THE DINNER 70 

Plate VII, THE WATER CURE 80 

Plate VUI, AFTER DINNER ........ 92 



^0j|ing 10 ^Et. 



M^- g;ot '^©ll hg i^t gittt^0r 0f '' fotfemg t0 ^ear/' 



i^^f^HOUGH famine prevails not at all in 

^^ the city ; 

Though none of starvation have died in 

the street ; 
Yet many there are now exciting our pity, 

Who Ve daily complaining of nothing to eat. 
The every-day cry and the every-day fare, 
That^s every day heard where the Livewells 
are dining, 

1* [9] 



lo Nothing to Eat. 

Is nothing to eat, or else nothing to wear, 
Which naked and starving rich Merdles are 

whining. 
There 's Kitty Malone — Mrs. Merdle ^tis 

now — 
Was ever on earth here before such a sinner ; 
Protesting, excusing and swearing a vow, 
She'd nothing worth eating to give us for 

dinner. 
Why Kitty, if starving for want of a meal, 
And had'nt a cent in the world to buy 

meat, 
You wouldn't exclaim with a more pious 

zeal, 
'*I'm dying of hunger — weVe nothing to 

eat!!" 



Nothing to Eat. ii 



^t '§xaaf—i\t (^mm 0f |as|wn. 



HE point I advance, if it need con- 



^^ firmation, 



I'll prove bj a witness that few will dis- 
pute, 

A pink of perfection and truth in the na- 
tion 

Where fashion and folly are all of a suit. 

'Tis ''Merdle the banker'' — or rather his 
wife, 

Whose fashion, religion, or music, or dress, 

Is followed, consulted, by many through life, 

As pilots are followed by ships in distress ; 



12 Nothing to Eat. 

For money's a pilot, a master, a king, 
Which men follow blindly through quick- 
sands and shoals, 
Where pilots their ships in a moment 

might fling 
To destruction the vessel and cargo and 

souls. 
Twas money made Kitty of fashion the 

queen. 
And fortune oft lends queens the scepter ; 
So fortune and fashion with this one weH^e 

seen 
Her money and fortune in fashion has kept 

her ; 
While slaves of the queen with her hoops 

rules the day, 



Nothing to Eat. 13 

Expanding their utmost extent of expan- 
sion, 
And mandates of fashion most freely obey, 
And would if it bid all their souls to ex- 
tinction. 




UT what "lady patron'^ as queen 
holds the sway ; 
Or sweeping, whose hoops in the street 

are most sweeping ; 
The burthen is not of this truth-telhng lay, 
That should in its reading the world set 

to weeping, 



14 Nothing to Eat. 

While telling the sufferings from head to 

the feet, 
Of poor human beings with nothing to eat. 




NOTHER expounder of life's thorny 
mazes 

Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare, 
And troubled the city's most troublesome 

places, 
While singing his ditty of ^'Nothing to 

Wear/' 

''A tale worth the telling," though I tell 
for the same, 



Nothing to Eat. 15 

Great objects of pity we see in the street, 
With nothing to wear, though a legion by 

name, 
Is not to buy clothing, but something to eat. 




|0to t\t ^ut\ax smttm^ §m. 

ND now by your leave I will try to 
expound it, 
In truth as it is and the way that I found 

it. 
My dinner, sometimes, like things transcend- 
ental 
And things more substantial, like women 
and wine 



i6 Nothing to Eat. 

A thing is, uncertain, and quite accidental, 
And sometimes I wonder, ^* Oh! where 

shall I dine?'' 
It was when reflecting one evening of late. 
What tavern or hotel or dining-room skin- 
ner, 
With table cloth dirty and dirtier plate. 
Would give me a nausea and call it a 

dinner, 
I met with Jack Merdle, a name fully 
known 

As good for a million in Stock-gamblers' 

Street, 
Where none but a nabob or forger high flown 
With ^^ bulls" or with ^^ bears" need look 

for a seat. 



Nothing to Eat. 17 



I 



iltrWj tilt "gmhx. 

O^OW Merdle this day having toss'd 

with his horns 
The bears that were puUing so hard at the 

stocks, 
And gored every bull that was treading his 

corns, 
Had lined all his pockets with ^* plenty of 

rocks, ^' 
And home now was driving at *Hwo forty'' 

speed, 
Where dinner was waiting — ''a jolly good 

feed/' 



i8 Nothing to Eat. 

Himself feeling happy, he knew by my 

looks, 
A case full of sadness and deep destitution 
Was present in person, not read of in 

books, _ ' 

Appealing in pity for an alms institution. 



|tos \xi\m ll0ttals §mt 



HE case, too, was urgent, for there 



^^ stood a sinner, 



Whose fate hung on chance — a chance for 
his dinner ; 

A chance for all mortals, with truth I as- 
sert, 



Nothing to Eat. 19 

Who eat where his chance was, to coun- 
teract fate, 

'^ To eat during Hfe each a peck of pure 
dirt " 

By eating at once the whole peck from one 
plate. 

For true when I think of the places we 
eat at;, 

Or rather the places by hunger when driven 

We rush in and swallow our bread and 
our meat at, 

A bushel good measure in life will be given 
To those who are living a '^boarding-house 

, Hfe," 
Or those who are driven by fortune to 
journey, 



20 Nothing to Eat. 

And eat when we must with so dirty a knife, 
I wish't could be done by the power of 

attorney ; 
Or where you must eat in a place called 

'^saloon ;'' 
Or ^^coflfee-house '^ synonym of whisky and 

rum ; 
(I wish all the breed were sent off to the 

moon, 
And earth was well clear of the coffee- 
house scum ;) 
Or where ^' Restauration" hangs out for 

sign, 
At bar-room or cellar or dirty back room, 
Where dishcloths for: napkins are thought 

extra fine, 




> S 
(a 5 

O ;:; 



Nothing to Eat. 23 



And table cloths look as though washed 

with a broom ; 
Where knives waiters spit on and wipe on 

their sleeves, 
And plates needing polish, with coat tails 

are cleaned ; 
Where priests dine with harlots, and judges 

with thieves, 
And mayors with villains his worship has 

screened. 



24 Nothing to Eat. 




ND what do you eat in the mess 
there compounded? 
For roast beef, the gravy the soap-man 

should claim — 
The soup some odd things might turn up 

if sounded, 
And other '' made -dishes'' might turn up 

the same. 
Decoctions that puzzle your chemical skill, 
You get if you call either coffee or tea ; 
And milk that is made with and tastes of 

the swill, 
As like milk, as wine is that often we see 



Nothing to Eat. 25 

Is like to the juice of the grape in perfection, 
Or Hke as the candidate after election 
Is like the fair thing that we hoped or ex- 
pected 
Before the base thief was exposed or de- 
tected ; 

As like truth and virtue — and more is the 
pity — 

The men we elected to rule our own city. 

In *' council^' while sitting, though ''com- 
mon'' we call them. 

In common opinion, if people at large 

Are 's common in mofals, no worse could 
befal 'em 

If Satan should take them at once in his 
charge. 



26 Nothing to Eat. 

If food as their filth was as plenty for 

diet, 
No lack would they feel of the coveted 

cash, 
Or power they maintain with the power of 

a riot, 
When heads of opponents are served up 

as hash 
By Star-chamber cooks of the club ^'re- 
storation,'* 
That rules now the city and would rule 

the nation, 
If ''Sachems'- were willing the "Wigwam'' 

to yield, 
And give the arch -traitor a fair fighting 

field. 



Nothing to Eat. 29 

But fighting just now is not our intention, 
But dining with Merdle, the banker, in state, 
And only these items Uke side dishes men- 
tion, 
While waiting the coming the main dinner 
plate. 

^l^^HILE waiting debating I stated be- 

^^^^ fore, 

Jack Merdle drove up in his carriage and 

bays, 
** Halloo," said the banker, '^1 see you're 

ashore — 
No wonder — this weather is all in a haze — 



30 Nothing to Eat. I 

s - 

But come in my carriage, and truly con- 
fess I 

You're a victim of hunger and dinner 
down town ; 

A case of most common distressing dis- 

tress ; | 

When dining in pubhc with Jones, Smith 
or Brown, 

Or some other practical men of the na- 
tion, \ 

Is worse on the whole than a little star- ! 
vation. 

But come home with me for the sake of \ 
Lang Syne, | 

And see Mrs, Merdle and see how we i 
dine. ! 



Nothing to Eat. 31 

I must not expect/' he advised in advance, 

**To meet with a dinner got up in per- 
fection, ^ 

But must run the risk of the luck and 
the chance, 

As candidates do on the day of election/' 



»■ 



O^OW Merdle, en passant, I had known 

for a score 
Of years, when a dinner with Jones, Brown 

or Smith 
As good as one gets for a quarter or more, 
Was a thing unthought of, or else but a 

myth 



32 Nothing to Eat. 

In Merdle's day-dreaming of things yet in 

store, 
When hope painted visions of a painted 

abode, 
And hope never hoped for anything 

more — 
I'm sure never dreamed he would dine a 

la mode. 
In dreams wildest fancy I doubt if he 

dreamed, 
That time in its changes that wears rocky 

shores, 
Should change what so changeless certainly 

seemed, 
Till Merdle, Jack Merdle, would own twenty 
stores, 



Nothing to Eat. 33 

Much more own a bank, e'en the horse 

that he rode, 
Or pay half the debts of the wild oats he 

sowed. 
I knew when he worked at his old father's 

trade, 
And thought he would stick to his wax 

and the last, 
But Fortune, the fickle, incontinent jade, 
A turn to his fortune has given a cast ; 
'*A wife with a fortune,'^ which men hunt 

in packs. 

To Jack was the fortune that fell to his share ; 

A fortune that often is such a hard tax. 

That men hurry through it with '^nothing 

to spare," 
2^ 



34 Nothing to Eat. 

With ^^ nothing to eat/' or a house ^^fit to 
live in/' 

With ''nothing half decent'' to put on 
their backs, 

With nothing ''exclusive" to have or be- 
lieve in, 

*' Except what is common to common street 
hacks." 

So fortune and comfort, that should be like 
brothers, 

Though fought for and bled for where for- 
tunes are made. 

Though sought for and failed of by ten 
thousand others. 

Are not worth the fighting and fuss that is 
made. 



Nothing to Eat. 35 

But fortune for Merdle by Cupid was 

cast, 
And bade him look higher than wax and 

the last, 
That Merdle his father, with good honest 

trade. 
Had used with the stitches his waxed end 

had made. 
I knew when old Merdle lived down by 

the mill, 
I often went fishing and Jack dug the 

bait ; 
But Jack Merdle then never thought he 

should fill 
With fish and roast meat such a full din- 
ner plate : 



36 Nothing to Eat. 

Nor I, when my line which I threw for 

a trout 
While Jack watched the bob of the light 

floating cork, 
Ever thought of the time in a '^Merdle 

turn out '' 
To ride, or to dine with a pearl handle fork 
In Jack^s splendid mansion, where taste, 

waste and style. 
Contend for preemption, as then by the mill. 
Old Merdle contended with fortune the 

while. 
For bread wherewithal Jack's belly to fill. 
I never thought then little Kitty Malone 
As heir to old Gripus would bring him 

the cash, 




!?; CO 

5 2 

o o 






Nothing to Eat. 39 

Ton which as a banker Jack Merdle has 

shone, 
And Kitty in fashion has cut such a 

dash ; 
Nor when as a girl not a shoe to her 

feet, 
She accepted my offers of coppers or 

candy, 
She would tell me in satin ^* we Ve nothing 

to eat,'' 
While eating from silver or sipping her 

brandy, 
And wond'ring that Merdle, the Jack I have 

named, 
Should bring home a friend — ('twas thus 

she exclaimed — 



4-0 Nothing to Eat. 

The day that IVe mentioned — a day to 

remember — 
When Merdle and I in his carriage and 

bays, 

Through Avenue Five on a day in Sep- 
tember, 

Drove up to a mansion with gas-light a- 

blaze.) 



XL Mtx^ilt at 3mt 



^^OJ^^^VHY Merdle — why did you bring 

^^^^^ Dinewell to-day? 
So very, though welcome, so quite unex- 
pected ! 



Nothing to Eat. 41 

For dinner, if any, I'm sure I can't say, 

Our servants with washing are all so in- 
fected. 

If any 's provided, 't is nothing but scraps 

Of pot-luck or pick up of some common fare; 

Or something left over from last week 
perhaps, 

Which you Ve brought a friend, and an 
old one, to share. 

I never, I'm sure now, so much was ashamed. 

To think he '11 discover — what 's true to 
the letter — 

We 've nothing, or next to 't that 's fit to 
be named, 

For one who is used every day to what's 
better. 



42 Nothing to Eat. 

■ 

But what can you expect if you come on 

a Monday? 
Our French cook's away too, I vow and 

declare — 
But if you would see us with something 

to spare, 
Let's know when you're coming, or come 

on a Sunday ; 
For that of all others, for churchmen or 

sinners, 
A day is for gorging with extra good din- 
ners. 
If Merdle had told me a friend would be 

here, 
A dinner I 'd get up in spite of the 

bills — 




AND THAT IS JUST WHAT, AS OUR BUTCHER EXPLAINS, 

THE DICKENS HAS PLAYED WITH OUR BEEF AND OUR MUTTON.' 



Nothing to Eat. 45 

I often tell butcher he ^s wonderful dear — 

He says every calf that a butcher now kills, 

Will cost near as much as the price of a 
steer, 

Before all the banks in their discount ex- 
panded 

And flooded the country with ^ lamp-black 
and rags,' 

Which poor men has ruined and ship- 
wrecked and stranded 

On Poverty's billows and quick-sands and 
crags. 

And that is just what, as our butcher ex- 
plains. 

The dickens has played with our beef and 
our mutton ; 



4.6 Nothing to Eat. 

But something is gained, for, with all of his 

pains, 
The poor man won't make of himself such 

a glutton. 
I 'm sure if they knew what a sin 't is to eat, 
When things are all selling at extravagant 

prices, 
That poor folks more saving would be of 

their meat, 
And learn by example how little suffices. 
I wish they could see for themselves what 

a table — 
What examples we set to the laboring poor. 
In prudence, and saving, in those who are 

able 
To live hke a king and his court on a tour. 



Nothing to Eat. 4.7 

I feel, I acknowledge, sometimes quite de- 
jected 

To think, as it happens with you here to- 
day, 

To drop in so sudden and quite unex- 
pected, 

How poor we are living some people will 
say. 



xs. llerMe ^m ia ilarket. 



4^ ^l^rj^ITH prices outrageous they charge 

^-^^^^ now for meat, 
And servants so worthless are every day 
growing, 



48 Nothing to Eat. 

I wonder we get half enough now to eat, 
And should n't if 't want for the fact of my 

going 
To market to cheapen potatoes and beef, 
And talk to the butchers about their abuses, 
And listen to stories beyond our belief, 
They tell while they cheat us, by way of 

excuses. 
And grocers — do tell us — is 't legal to 

charge 
Such prices for sugar, and butter, and flour? 
Oh, why don't the Mayor in his wisdom 

enlarge 
Both weight and measure as he does 

' doubtful power ? ' 



Nothing to Eat. 4.9 






^ ^ ^jf) UT come, now, I hear by the sound 
(^ of the ringing 

That dinner is ready, and time none to 
spare 

To finish our eating in time for the sing- 
ing 

At Niblo's ; or at Burton^s drop in for a 
stare. 

To 'kill time^ the object, whatever the 

source is, 

And that is the reason we sit at the table 
8 



50 Nothing to Eat. j 

And call for our dinner in slow-coming | 

I 

courses, \ 

To kill, while we eat, all the time we are \ 

i 
alDle. 1 

Though little, I told you, that's worthy i 

\ 

your taste i 

You ^11 find on our table, pray don 't think | 

us mean — 
Your welcome is ample — that 's better than 

waste — I 

Oh! here comes the soup in a silver ■ 

j 
tureen — i 

'Tis mock turtle too — so good for diges- j 

tion : : 

That kills me by inches, the wretched ! 

i 

complaint ! 



Nothing to Eat. 51 

Dyspepsia — to cure which, I take by sug- 
gestion 

Port- wine in the soup, when I feel slightly 
faint. 



^^Oj^rVOW soup, if you like made of 
C-9^ beef very nice, 

You'll find this the next thing to the 
height of perfection ; 

And eaten with ketchup, or thickened with 
rice. 

Will suit you I know, if this is your selec- 
tion. 



52 Nothing to Eat. 



My own disposition to this one in- j 

J 

clines, j 

I 

But dreadful dyspepsia destroys all the 

j 
pleasure ! 

Of dinner, except it's well tinctured with i 

wines i 

Which plan I adopt as a health-giving : 
measure. 

A table well ordered, well furnished, and ! 

neat, 1 

j 

No wonder our nature for ever is tempt- | 

ing; i 

And I'd like to know if Mahomet could 

beat i 

"I 

Its pleasures — dyspepsia for ever exempt- i 

ing— \ 



Nothing to Eat. 53 

With all that he promised in paradise 

gained, 
With Houris attendant in place of the 

churls 
With which we are worried, tormented, 

and pained — 
The colored men servants, or green Irish 

girls. 



llrs. ^tx)ilt JiffttMs $mWs Mmtm^ '§lmmtt 



44 t^KOJJGK Houris are handsome, 

^^ though lovely the place — 
More lovely perhaps than our own country 
seat — 



54 Nothing to Eat. 

I never could see, in the light of free 
grace 

What pleasure they have there with noth- 
ing to eat. 

With nothing to wear, if the climate is 
suiting, 

We might get along I am sure pretty 
well ; 

No washing and starching and crimping 
and fluting, 

No muslin and laces and trouble of dress- 
ing, they tell. 

E'er troubles the women, or bothers the 
men, 

Who soon grow accustomed, as people do 
here, V 



Nothing to Eat. 55 

To fashions prevailing, and things that they 

ken ; 
To dresses fore-shortened where bosoms 

appear ; 
To bonnets that show but a rose in the 

wearing ; 
To dresses that sweep like a besom the 

street ; 
To dresses so gauzy the hoops through are 

seen ; 
To shoes quite as gauzy to cover the feet ; 
But watch how a man here goes raving 

and swearing, 
At wife and all hands, if they Ve nothing 

to eat! 



56 Nothing to Eat. 



w. ^txlilt §mmmt\ st f |ing$ (^art^g. 



4^ CMVO matter how costly or flimsy her 

(zj^ dresses, 

i 

The angel you honor with your kmd at- | 

j 

tentions ; | 

No matter how foolish her wardrobe in- 1 

j 

i 

ventions, ^ 

You love her, or say so, from slipper to \ 

tresses ; I 

But, presto! you call her the greatest of \ 

sinners, 1 

Though smiling, she treats you to badly 

cooked dinners ; j 

i 

i 



Nothing to Eat. 57 

Which proves where the seat is of men's 

best affections, 
With which 'pon their honor they extol us 

as wives, 
And treat us at dinner with sagest reflections, 
Of beauty, and duty we owe all our lives 
To you, noble lords, of this mundane crea- 
tion ; 

Which, judging from some things they tell us, 
Was made for the creatures of this trading 

nation. 
Who make it a business to buy us and sell us, 
Like *Erie,' or ^Central,' or other such 

stocks ; 
With care, whea they bid "for a very ' Miss 

Nancy, ^ 
3* 



58 Nothing to Eat. 

That she's of a stock that the brokers 
call ''fancy/ 

Or else has a pocket ' chuck full of the 
rocks ' — 

The rocks that are wrecking each day of 
their sailing, 

More fortunes than ever in ocean were 
swallowed ; 

Where * ventures ' of marriage their vic- 
tims impaling 

With mammon and misVy together have 
wallowed. 



Nothing to Eat. 59 



^^Qj^OW Colonel, to husband you need 

Qz)^ not be winking, 
While wiping the soup with a smile from 

your lips ; 
I know just as well as he does how you 're 

thinking 
The soup is as tasteless as though made 

of chips. 
You need not deny it, and swear that no 

better 
Concocted was ever in London or Paris ; 



6o Nothing to Eat. 

Remember the praises you gave in your 

letter 
Of cooking and eating you wrote to Miss 

Harris. 
Now, Colonel, do n't ofifer a word more to 

flatter — 
The soup may be so-so, but wait for the 

meat ; 
And after you've seen the last dish, plate, 

or platter, 
You'll own then, I'm certain, we've nothing 

.to eat — 
That is compared, as described to Miss 

Harris, 
With all the best tables you eat at in 

Paris, 



Nothing to Eat. 6i 

ii /^OME, John, Jane, and Susan, the 

^-^ soup take away, 
And bring in the turbot, the sheep's head 

and bass ; 
And have you got lobster and salad to-day ? 
And see that the celery's all right in the 

glass. 
ISTow fish — Colonel Dinewell, which fish 

will you try ? 
And how shall I dress it to suit your nice 

taste? 
For sauce to the fish is as love to the sigh, 
Imperfect, it's worthless, and both prove a 

waste. 



62 Nothing to Eat. 






^^OM/IUT this is concocted by rules so 
(3y complete ; 

Though piquant, is healthy and easy di- 
gested ; 

And if you will note it as slowly we eat, 

The contents 111 give for our friends in- 
terested. 

Imprimus : in fish stock, an onion we 
stew. 

And anchovy essence two spoonfuls we 
add; 



Nothing to Eat. 63 

With butter, horse-radish, and lemons a few ; 

Mushrooms, too, in ketchup is not very bad ; 

And pickle of walnuts with onions chopped 
fine, 

To which there is added some old sherry- 
wine. 

My doctor, so queer, when I suffer distress, 

Inquires what I Ve latterly foolishly eaten, 

And swears that to swallow this * horrible 
mess,' 

Would entitle a dog like a dog to be 
beaten. 

But la ! such a doctor knows nothing of 

women's complaints, 
« 
And talks Latin nonsense about ' regular 

diet;' 



64 Nothing to Eat. 

And thinks that us mortals should live 
more like saints, 

On moonshine and nonsense of a heavenly 
quiet. 

He says that a woman of my plaint com- 
plaining, 

If she was a woman at all half discreet, 

Would shudder to think every day she is 
maiming 

Her stomach with trash, and such stuff as 
we eat ! 



• 



Nothing to Eat. 65 



rs. Perirk gmnktl \tt ^attax. 



4 i (y^A UT he 's an old fogy, you may 

(j> know by this sign — 
He don't smoke tobacco, drink lager or 

wine ; 
And swears that rich gravy, roast pork or 

chop, 
Would kill a big ostrich, if stuffed in his 

crop. 
He told me one day 'bout the pain in my 

feet, 

' I see what 't is ails you — you Ve nothing 
to eat!' 



66 Nothing to Eat. 

Provoking, absurd, foolish hint that my 
health 

Was injured by eating what station and 
wealth 

And fashion give right for my sex to en- 
joy 

In spite of the doctors we choose to em- 
ploy. 



XL llerliU ^mmtt\ apin m ^km. 



a ^/lUT you are not eating, and I 

(jy fear that the fish, 
Or else ^t is the gravy 's not done to your 
wish. 



Nothing to Eat. 67 

You're starving while waiting for some- 
thing to eat — 

Thank fortune I told you how poorly we 
live — 

I hope John now will give us a piece of 
roast meat, 

Or else such a dinner you'd never for- 
give. 

Why yes, Merdle, look, there is beef on 
that dish — 

Jane Hill, don't you see, there's a plate 
here to shift — 

That John is now bringing — 'tis all he 
can lift — 

And Colonel, that turkey, you know ^tis 
my wish — 



68 Nothing to Eat. 

You know that Excelsior's your motto in 

carving — 
As nothing more now we shall have on 

the table 
We'll eat and give thanks this day that 

we 're able 
To keep our poor bodies entirely from 

starving. 
Now Susan's this all that you've been able 

to pick up ? 
Oh, no ! there 's a ham, and it 's done to a 

turn 
So nice, that the nose of a Jew needn't 

stick up ; 
And a tongue — well, a tongue I never 

could spurn ; 




B 
« Q 

o S 






a W 

S ^ 
^ ^ 



Nothing to Eat. 71 

It's nice while the wine at our leisure 

we sip ; 
And good with a cracker in wine we can 

dip. 



fax a Mmxm suffmng toit| §wwi^* 

H ^C^OME turkey? why yes — the least 

(^^ mite will suffice ; 
A side bone and dressing and bit of the 

breast ; 
The tip of the rump — that's it — and one 

o' the fli's — 
In spite of the doctor : my appetite 's 

none of the best, 



72 Nothing to Eat. 

And so I must pamper the delicate thing, 
And tickle a fancy that's very capricious 
With bits of a turkey, the breast or the 

wing, 
With beef very tender, and gravy delicious. 
Some beef now ? I thank you, not any at 

present ; 
I'll nibble a little at what I have got. 
And wish for a duck, or a grouse, or a 

pheasant. 
Though none of them come for a wish, 

in the pot. 



Nothing to Eat. 73 



XL PtWe ^ismxut]^ at Wiu\t^ m^ \tx 



444. ^F wishes were horses' — IVe heard 

(c^ when a girl — 
'If wishes were horses, the beggars would 

ride ' — 
If wishes were pheasants/ I'd wish with 

a skirl 
Till cooked ones came flying and sat by my 

side. 
A fig, then, for doctors, their tinctures and 

drugs ; 

Good eating would cure me, with plenty of 

game ; 
4 



74 Nothing to Eat. 

And as for pill boxes, and bottles, and 

jugs, 
I wouldn't know one, when I saw it, by 

name. 
Oh, dear! such a load now my stomach 

oppresses, 
While eating these trifles, attempting to 

dine — 
I'm sure 'taint the turkey — it must be 

my dresses — 
And if so 'twill ease them to sip sherry 

wine. 
Tis sad, though, to be such a sad in- 
valid — 
Dear me, Colonel Dinewell, you've done 

eating meat — 



Nothing to Eat. 75 

Your doctor, like mine, I hope liasn't for- 
bid, 

That you should n^t have, as I do, so little 
to eat. 

Ah ! well then, I see, though I Ve hardly 
begun. 

The meats and the solids must go right 
away ; 

So bring in the pudding, if Susan's got 
one, 

Which will for a while one's appetite stay. 



76 Nothing to Eat. 



4iQi PUDDING! why yes, as I live, 

(^^ too, it 's plum ; 
So plain, Susan makes them on purpose 

for me 
I never refuse, when the plum puddings 

come, 
To finish my dinner, if finished 't can 

be 
On things unsubstantial, like puddings and 

pies, 
So made up of suet, and currants, and 

flour, 



Nothing to Eat. 77 

/Like this one before us, to get up the 

size, 
And stirred up and beaten with eggs by 

the hour, 
"With bread crumbs, and citron, and small 

piece of mace ; 
With nutmeg, and cinnamon, and sugar, 

and milk. 
And currants, and raisins, and spices so 

race. 
And what else I know not of things of 

that ilk. 
The whole after cooking six hours at the 

least. 
When thiis well compounded with delicate 

skill, 



78 Nothing to Eat. 

With wine sauce is eaten, to finish the 

feast, 
And suits the digestion of ladies quite 

m, 

Who suffer as I do, from having bad 
cooks, 

And very weak stomachs, and food that 
near kills 'em ; 

And then such a sight of bad rules in 
the books 

From contents to finis, to cure one that 
fills 'em. 

There's one of all others so much recom- 
mended 

To cure every ill of old Eve's every daugh- 
ter, 







8 2 






K < 

O !5 



Nothing to Eat. 8i 

With nothing or next to't, for medicine 

expended, 
For nothing to cure with is used but cold 

water. 
And what with the bathing, and washing, 

and scrubbing ; 
The packing, and sweating, and using the 

sheet ; 
The shower bath, and douche bath, and all 

sorts of rubbing ; 
And literally nothing but brown bread to 

eat, 
No wonder the patient accepts of the 

lure, 

To escape such a ducking, acknowledged a 

cure. 
4^ 



82 Nothing to Eat. 

But Lord, what a skein I have made of 

my yarn, 
While Susan's arranging and changing the 

plates. 
And running all round old Robin Hood's 

barn, 
Like puzzles at school that we made on 

our slates ; 
But talking of puzzles, no one that we 

made. 
While playing the fool we played as a 

trade. 
When childhood and folly joined hands at 

the schools. 
Could equal the pranks of these cold-water 

fools. 



Nothing to Eat. 83 

Yes, yes, Mr. Merdle, I knew by the 

smelling 
The pudding was ready, without any telling ; 
So Colonel, I '11 help you a delicate slice — 
For nothing, I 'm sure, like a dinner you ' ve 

eaten — 
And afterwards follow with jelly and ice, 
So pleasant while waiting to cool off the 

heat on ; 
And then with a syllabub, comfit, or cream, 
Our dessert of almonds and raisins we 11 

nibble, 
Till coffee comes in to revive with its 

steam. 
When cakes in its fragrance we '11 leisurely 

dibble. 



84 Nothing, to Eat. 

I 'm sure after all it 's a terrible bore 
To labor so hard as we do for our victuals ; 
I envy the women that beg at the door, 
Or hire out for wages to handle your kettles, 
And wash, bake, and iron, and do nothing 

but cooking. 
So rugged and healthy, and often good 

looking : 
The doctor has told me except when they 're 

mothers, 
They never take tincture, or ^ rhubarb, or 

pill. 
And swears the profession if there were 

no others. 
Their patients would use up, and starve 

out and kill. 



Nothing to Eat. 85 

I 'm sure I do n't see how that makes them 

exempt 

From all sorts of sickness and woman's 

complaints, 
With nothing to hinder if appetite tempt 

From eating or drinking as happy as saints. 

Oh Lord, now, this pudding so delicate made, 

And gravy I 'm sure with nothing that 's 

rich in, 
That one of those women who beg as a 

trade. 
The whole in one stomach could leisurely 

pitch in. 
Is now in my own so terribly painful in 

feeling, 
Its calls for relief are most loudly appealing. 



86 Nothing to Eat. 



m M)i atlm Matters. 



U ^0 while we are eating the fruits 

CT^ of the vine, 
Don't let us forget such a health giving 

juice, 
As Champagne, or Sherbet, or other good 

wine, 
Nor sin by neglecting its temperate use.' 
Now Sherbet, my husband extols to the 

skies. 
With me though, my stomach is weak and 

won't bear it : 



Nothing to Eat. 87 

And Sherry, though sometimes affecting 

my eyes, 
A bottle with pleasure we '11 open and 

share it. 
Ha, ha, well-a-day — what a queer world 

to live in, 
If one were contented on little to dine. 
We need not be longing another to be in, 
Where women, they tell us, exist without 

wine ; 
Where husbands are happy and women 

content ; 
Where dresses, though gauzy, are fit for 

the street ; 
Where no one is wretched with purses unbent. 
With nothing to wear and nothing to eat. 



88 Nothing to Eat. 

i 
Where women no longer are treated la i 

Turk, \ 

Where husbands descended from Saxon or I 

Norman, j 

For women when sickly are willing to j 

work, 
And not long for Utah and pleasures la i 

Mormon — 

! 

i 

Where men freely marry and live with their 

1 
wives, I 

i 

And not live as you do, mon Colonel, so j 

single. j 

Such wretched and dinnerless bachelor ! 

lives ; \ 

You don't know the pleasure there is in 

i 

the tingle 



Nothing to Eat. 89 

Of ears pricked by lectures, la curtain^ au 
. Caudle, 

Or noise of young Dinewells beginning to 
toddle ; 

While plodding all day with your paper 
and quills, 

And copy, and proof sheets, and work for 
the printer, 

Pray what do you know of the housekeep- 
er's bills, 

And other such ' pleasures of hope ' for 
the winter ? 

You men, selfish creatures, think all of the 
care 

Of living and keeping yourselves in ex- 
istence, 



go Nothing to Eat. 

Is due to your own daily labor, and 
share, 

From breakfast to dinner of business per- 
sistance ; 

While woman is either a plaything or 
drudge, 

According to station of wealth or posi- 
tion. 

Which men help along with a word or a 
nudge 

To heaven high up or low down to per- 
dition. 

But what was I saying of a world free 
from care, 

Of eating and drinking and dresses to 
wear? 



Nothing to Eat. 91 

Where women by husbands are never tor- 
mented. 

And never asked money where husbands 
dissented ? 

And never see others, their rivals, in fashion 
ahead, 

And never have doctors — a woman^s great 
dread — 

And nothing, I hope, hke my own indi- 
gestion, 

To torment and starve them, as this one 
does me. 

And keep them from sipping — forgive the 
suggestion — 

The nectar etherial they drink for their 
tea. 



92 Nothing to Eat. 






^^ ^^MYOW Merdle — now Colonel — I know 

Cz)^ you are waiting, 
And thinking my talking to eating 's a bar, 
Still hoping, by tasting, my appetite sating, 
Will give you the license to smoke a 

cigar. 
Well then, IVe done now, and hope too 

youVe dined, 
As well as down town where you dine for 

a shilling, 



Nothing to Eat. 95 

At Taylor's, or Thompson's, or one of the 
kind, 

Where mortals are flocking each day for 
their filling ; 

Or else at the Astor where bachelors quar- 
ter, 

Where port holes for windows give light 
to the room, 

Far out of the region of Eve's every daugh- 
ter, 

So high they are stuck up away toward 
the moon. 

Though as for the ^ stuck up ' no walls 
built of brick. 

Or granite, or marble, or dirty red 
sand. 



96 Nothing to Eat. 

Could stick up a man who himself 's but 
a stick, 

An inch above where he would naturally 
stand. 

To witness the truth of this final asser- 
tion, 

I call you to witness the sticks at the 
door, 

Where they make it a daily, a^ manly' di- 
version. 

To ogle each woman, and sometimes do 
more. 

Who passes the hotel that's named by a 
saint, 

Where boorish bad manners give room for 
complaint. 



Nothing to Eat. 97 

Where idlers and loafers, with gamblers a 

few, 
Make up for the nonce the St. Nicholas 

crew. 
The 'outside barbarians,' I freely confess, 
Who ogle our faces and ogle our dress. 
Who spit where we walk as dirty a puddle 
As bipeds can make when their brains are 

' a muddle,' 
Do not prove the inside is as dirty as they 

are, 
Or else the gods help all the ladies who 

stay there. 
Why any prefer in a hotel to stay. 
Instead of a house of their choosing to 

own. 



98 Nothing to Eat. 

Is just to avoid all the trouble, they say, 
That servants to give us are certainly prone, 
I'm sure if a tyranny more terrible pre- 
vails, 
In Austria or other despotic domain, 
My memory where most certainly fails, 
That servants and milHners over us gain, 
Just here in New York, and the more is 

the pity, 
Where Wood is the Mogul that governs 
the city. 



Nothing to Eat. 99 



rs. PerWt, ^aWng ''pbM^^ a fittU'' fax 
tto0 |0ttrs at ginw, xttixtt\ fxm t\t %Mt 



U OiMPATIENT — oh yes— just the way 

C3; with you men! 
I never have time to half finish my 

eating 
Ere Merdle is done ; such a fidget is 

then, 
He 'd starve me I think rather 'n miss of 

a meeting 
Where brokers preside o'er the fate of the 

stocks, 
As Pales presided o'er shepherds and flocks. 



lOO Nothing to Eat. 

Now while you are smoking — what non- 
sense and folly — 

I'll go to my room — don't say No, for I 
must — 

Put on a new dress, with assistance of 
Molly, 

And then with a little strong tea and a 
crust, 

My strength I may hope for a walk will 
be able 

As far as the gate, and a very short ride, 

To give me a relish again for the table — 

What else do we live for in this world be- 
side?'' 



Nothing to Eat. ioi 



%\t |0ft parali^Jtl. — fi '§mmd\ to t\sn 



§ 



H! Kitty Malone — Mrs. Merdle 'tis 
now — 
Was there ever on earth than this, greater 

folly? 
Still gorging, while groaning, and swearing 

a vow. 
That yours is a case of most sad melancholy. 
With table that Croesus never had but might 

covet. 
You live but to eat and to eat 'cause 

you love it ; 



I02 Nothing to Eat. 

And yet while you swallow great sirloins 

of meat 
Complain like a beggar of nothing to 

eat. 



ft gist0ttr5^t|][ 0f t\): Mhmiau at ^S^t\dmm. 

^^^I^HAT else do we live for in this 

^^^^ world beside?'^ 
Alas ! 't is the question of ten times a 

day, 
That comes on the wind, or that floats on 

the tide. 
And creeps in the houses where men go 

to pray. 



Nothing to Eat. 103 

What else do we live for than get such a 

wife 
As this of the banker of our faint descrip- 
tion? 
What else is the end of our fashionable hfe 
From which men escape as they would from 

conscription? 
What else is the reason so few natives marry, 
Than this, that extravagance leads on to 

ruin ? 
It is because few men are able to carry 
The load of this baking and roasting and 

stewing, 
Of buying and wasting extravagant meat, 
Where women are dying of *^ nothing to 
eat;" 



I04 Nothing to Eat. 

Where men in corruption so rapidly tend- 
ing, 

In morals and wealth in bankruptcy end- 
ing. 

That forging and stealing and breaches of 
trust, 

And ten thousand arts of the confidence 
game, 

And follies uncounted of men '^on a bust,'' 

Are follies and crimes of this age to our 
shame, 

Till angels who witness the folly so wide 

Extended from palace to farm-house and 
cot, 

Might wonder if mortals life's objects forgot, 

Or Merdle's position is man's common lot ? 



Nothing to Eat. 105 



i^ §mmxut\ at M\nt $mt flortals f ilj^ Ux. 



^^C^I^HAT else do they live for in this 

^^^^ world beside?^' 
What else but for Kittys or one of the 

same, 
Do mothers their daughters at schools give 

the touch 
That leaves them to live as a wife but in 

name 
While position and fashion they frantically 

clutch. 
What else do they live for, our girls so 

refined, 

So forward, precocious, and gifted at ten 
5^ 



io6 Nothing to Eat. 

They are flirting and courting and things 

of the kind, 
That never came under our grandmother's 

ken. 
At fifteen so dressed up, and hooped up, 

I ween. 
They're mothers full often before they're 

sixteen, 
And fading and dowdy and sickly at twenty. 
With one boy in trowsers and two girls in 

laces 
Complaining of starving while dying of 

plenty 
The fate is of ladies in fashionable places. 



Nothing to Eat. 107 



lasliffimbk lolls to llarrg, anJ> |Iltt5trattt|[ 
t\m Conation. 



(MVOW heaven in mercy be kind to the 
(^ wretch, 

Who marries for money or fashion or folly ; 
He 'd better accept of the noose of Jack 

Ketch 
Than such a ^^ help-meet f or at once marry 

Dolly 
The cook, or with Bridget, the maid of the 

broom ; 
With one he ^d be sure to get coffee and 

meat, 



io8 Nothing to Eat. 

And never hear whining of nothing to eat, 
And 't other would make up his bed and 

his room ; 
And if he was blest with a child now and then, 
As happens sometimes with your fashion- 
able wives, 
Who 're coupled to bipeds, in nature called 

men, 
He 'd need no insurance to warrant their 
lives ; 

And need no expense of a grand ''bridal 

tour,'' 
Or visit each season at ''watering places," 
Where fashion at people well known to 

be poor, 
In money or station, will make ugly faces ; 



Nothing to Eat. 109 

Where women, though married, with rouds 

will flirt ; 
Where widows, though widows in fresh sable 

weeds, 
Spread nets that entangle like old Nessus' 

shirt 
And finish with Burdell and Cunningham 

deeds ; 
Where daughters when fading are taken to 

spend 
A month at the springs, or a week in salt 

water ; 
Where bachelors flirting on Ellen attend^ 
Are whispered by mamma, ** engaged to 

my daughter. '^ 



no Nothing to Eat. 



|£ |mgl0ritl| Ittrtj tat sit\tt MnfatkmU '§tm^$. 



w 



(?^0W heaven in mercy be kind to the 

wretches 
Who stay on the earth Hke this Mrs- Mer- 

dle ! 
More wretched than ever a wretch on the 

hurdle 
Was drawn by all England's official Jack 

Ketches ; 
More wretched, if can be, at church on a 

Sunday 
A woman, who worships, than God, more 

her dress, 



Nothing to Eat. hi 

Would be if she heard or e 'en thought 

Mrs. Grundy 
Would sneer at the set of a bonnet or 

tress ; 
Or say that she thought Miss Freelove's 

new pattern 
Of laces, or collars, or yard flowing sleeves, 
Looked more like the dress of a real Miss 

Slattern 
And not '^ so becoming'' 's the first one of 

Eve's. 



112 Nothing to Eat. 




'ET look at the thousands whose every- 
day prayer, 

Tar more than their own or their neigh- 
bor's salvation, 
Absorbs every thought, every dream, and 

all care, 
**To eat or to wear, is anything new in 
creation ? '^ 



Nothing to Eat. 113 



^l^^HAT else do they live for? They 

^^^ live but for this ; 

And nothing but this ever troubles their 
thinking ; 

Rich eating, rich dressing, and flirting's 
their bliss. 

And life's better purposes constantly blink- 
ing. 

Their life 's but a tissue of trouble and sor- 
row 

Of what is the fashion or will be to-mor- 
row. 



114- Nothing to Eat. 



\t llffrali^Jtlr npn toljat a ^as was iring |0rt^. 



^^^0-MORROW!'' who'll warrant to- 
^^ morrow we '11 see ? 

Who'll care the next day or day after for 
dinner ? 

Or what the next fashion of new dress will 
be? 

Or who Mrs. Grundy will say is the win- 
ner? 



Nothing to Eat. 115 



atot ia llak t\t ''^pliratmtt/' an^ frag 

-^ ^ i^l^^^V^^ '^-'^ ^^^^ ^^^» to-morrow, for 
^^^^ this bit of scandal, 

With maUce prepense that a cynic has writ- 
ten? 

(That's what they will say when the poem 
they handle, 

Who feel 'tis themselves whom the mad dog 
has bitten ; 

And wish he was treated as dogs with the 
rabies 

Are treated, to stop his unmannerly bark ; 



ii6 Nothing to Eat. 

Or packed oflF to bed as you do naughty 

babies, 
To sleep, or be frightened all alone in the 

dark.) 
Who '11 care ? why the author of this ugly 

poem — 
He '11 care — for a reason — that all of you 

read it — 
He '11 care for the cash you '11 give — Oh ! 

how he needs it — 
(Oh ! what would you give, ladies dear, just 

to know him ? — ) 
But that, by your leave, by the aid of the 

elf 
The printer employs, he will keep to him- 
self. 



Nothing to Eat, 117 

He knows, if you knew him, what fate he 

would meet ; 
At every table you'd give him — nothing 

to eat. 
Excuse then, dear ladies, the author his 

shyness. 
And accept his conge at the end of this 



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Advertiser. 



A BOOK FOB. THS IiADISS. 

Ladies' Guide to Crochet; 

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. 

Copiously illustrated with original and very choice designs in 
Crochet, &c., printed in colors, separate from the letterpress, on 
tinted paper. Also with numerous wood cuts printed with the let- 
terpress, explanatory of terms, &c. Oblong, pp. 117, beautifully 
bound in extra cloth, gilt. Price SEYENTY-FIVE CENTS. 

This is by far the best work on the subject of Crochet yet pub- 
lished. There are plenty of other books containing Crochet pat- 
terns, but the difficulty is, they do not have the necessary instruc- 
tions how to work them, and are, therefore, useless. This work, 
however, supplies this much felt and glaring deficiency, and has the 
terms in Crochet so clearly explained, that any Crochet pattern, 
however difficult, may be worked with ease. 

Copies of either of the above books sent to any address in the 
United States or Canada. Send cash orders to 

DICK & FITZGERALD, 

Publishers, No. 18 Ann street. New York. 



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